Permanence
by Kerrison
Summary: Continuation of my "Step Up" Series. Tony and Ziva begin a life together. And, like always, the road is a little rocky.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Thank you to everyone who has followed the story so far. I've very much enjoyed writing these installments of the "Step Up" series and watching Tony & Ziva grow. Thank you for all the reviews and feedback - it has made me a happy gal. And thanks very much to my great friends & betas Jen & Jaimee. They're awesome & no others can compare- nuff said.  
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**I'd love to hear what you all think about this latest installment in the series and hope you'll take a few moments to review.  
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Granted, Gibbs never locked his door, so that certainly wasn't a tip off.

It was just the small things that gave it away. Nothing the average person would ever notice, but enough to make Gibbs pause and take stock of his senses before smirking and moving deeper into his house.

The papers on the hall table had been moved slightly. When he reached for a beer in the fridge, he noticed there was one less than before.

A year ago, he would have thought Jen was there. He'd come back from long investigations and find her cooking dinner as if letting herself into his house was nothing to raise an eyebrow at. Some nights she'd be on the couch watching a movie. Others, curled up in the study with a book.

Once he found her in the basement trying to replace his nasty coffee mug with a clean one. The nerve of some people.

No matter where she was, the house smelled of Oscar De La Renta. He bought her the perfume in Paris for her birthday. She had worn it ever since – her _signature fragrance_, he had teased her.

One whiff of Oscar and Gibbs knew his house had someone in it that made it feel like family was there- - as if he had the wife of his dreams to come home to.

But now, a year later, he knew it was still family that chose to invade his home after work- now a 'son' instead of a 'wife.'

There was no scent of Oscar permeating the house. There was the faint lingering aftershave in the air. And the very lightest hint of lavender laying over it. Both scents that he had grown to identify with the office, with cases, with family.

He knew better than to head to the library. The kitchen was obviously empty, as was the couch.

But the biggest clue was the light he saw coming from under the basement door. Really, his investigative skills weren't required for this one.

He headed down the stairs, taking stock of the young man seated on an over turned crate, beer in hand, and head tilted back and braced against the wall. Tony's eyes regarded the ceiling and didn't even look towards Gibbs when the elder investigator's footfalls echoed on the wooden treads of the stairs.

Gibbs knew. Without asking a single question, he knew. Years of working with his team had made words an option instead of a requirement.

That didn't mean he would let Tony out of this conversation so easily.

"Did we have a meeting that I forgot about, DiNozzo?" he asked, taking a pull from his beer bottle and noticing how the bottle in Tony's hand had stopped sweating- obviously the younger man had been there for long enough for the bottle to warm to the room.

"Not really, Boss, no," Tony replied.

"You wanna tell me why you're in my house, then?" Gibbs asked, smothering a grin as he turned his back to Tony, picked up his chisel and hammer and began slowly working a ridge on his newest hull.

"I thought I should tell you," DiNozzo started. "You'll be getting some paperwork on your desk tomorrow. And it may lead you to think that I violated one of your rules."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Tony said, swallowing. "And there's the possibility that I did, in fact, break a rule. And, boss, there's the possibility that I ..." he paused and shifted, now looking down at his hands, unable to meet Gibbs' gaze. "That I don't care about the rules."

"They're there for a reason, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, still refusing to turn his eyes to Tony, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop the fatherly grin from taking over his features if he did so.

"I know, Boss. And I agree with all of them. Just not this one," Tony said, standing and setting the beer on the work-bench. "I can't risk it, Boss. I can't risk losing her."

Gibbs shook his head. "What paperwork will I be getting, exactly?"

"Change of address forms," Tony replied. "I, um, bought a house."

"And Ziva's moving in."

Tony's eyes flicked to Gibbs in surprise. He wasn't shocked, really- more surprised that Gibb's admitted to knowing.

"Yeah, boss"

Gibbs set his tools down and turned to the younger agent. He stepped closer, noticing how Tony squared his shoulders as if preparing to be hit.

Tony reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Gibbs.

"What's this?"

"Letter of resignation," Tony said simply, his voice wavering a bit as he said the words. He tried a small laugh to break the tension, but was unable to muster one up and his half-hearted grin fell off his face.

_He loves this job, _Gibbs thought, taking the envelope from Tony's hands. _But he finally found something he loves more. Damned if I'm gonna stop him from growing up. _

He reached up and liberally whacked DiNozzo on the back of the head. "That's for waiting this long to tell me."

Tony managed to keep himself from rubbing the stinging skin on his head. He shifted but didn't say anything.

Gibbs flicked the envelope out and whacked Tony on the forehead with it. "And that's for thinking you're resigning."

"I'd prefer resigning to being fired, boss," Tony said in a voice hardly above a whisper.

"Yeah. Too bad neither one is going to happen," Gibbs said, tossing the letter onto the work bench. He turned back towards boat and began to slowly chisel the wood to the correct shape, leaving a confused Tony staring at his back. "Go home and start packing," he said. "You've gotta move all of those damned DVD's into your new house. That'll take a week in itself."

"Yes, boss," Tony said turning and heading towards the stairs.

He was stopped mid-way up the stairs by Gibb's voice; "DiNozzo?"

"Yeah boss?"

"Does Ziva know about that letter?" he jerked his head at the workbench and Tony's letter of resignation.

"No," was Tony's reply, a wry grin on his face. "I'm way more scared of her than you, boss."

_As it should be, _Gibbs thought, shaking his head. "She won't be hearing about it from me, DiNozzo, – and my failed marriages tell me you shouldn't mention it either."

"I owe ya, boss."

Gibbs snickered and called after his senior agent as Tony headed up the stairs. "Don't name any babies after me and we'll call it square."

The smell of Tony's aftershave drifted out of the basement. The lavender that had come in with Tony, left as well and after a second, Gibbs identified it as the Eu du Toilette that Ziva had worn since returning from Israel.

Gibbs paused, pulled a swig from his beer and let his eyes drift shut.

He was sure his senses were deceiving him. He was a man of fact & logic- not one of whimsy and ghost stories.

But he still would have sworn on his life that he caught the gentle smell of Oscar de la Renta in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

The keys jingled in the palm of his hand as he stood outside the door, lost in thought.

How many nights had he come home to an empty apartment? How many times had he come home with a woman who's name he wouldn't remember the next week?

And now he was going to open the door to the smell of whatever dish she had decided to throw together for dinner, their fridge close to bare.

He would come home to the sight of her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she stood over the table, setting places for both of them – truly a ridiculous process as they both ended up camped out at the coffee table watching TV.

Now he would occasionally be home in time to be greeted by the smell of her Lavender body-wash wafting through the air as she took a shower. And, if he ran through the halls shedding his clothes, he was sometimes quick enough to join her in the shower. Yeah, he smelled like a girl with all those flowery shampoos, but it was worth it.

The feel of her in his arms as he fell asleep was worth it.

He fiddled with the keys again, a smile spreading over his face as he realized that by this time next week, they'd be at the new house, each trying to establish equal footing on equal territory. It wouldn't be "his place" or "her place." Neither would have to feel awkward about staying over and impeding on someone's personal space. It was _their _place. Yes, she still had issues with him paying the mortgage, but he figured they could work that out later.

_Later. As in, when we have joint bank accounts because she's agreed to tolerate me for a life-time. _

Tony turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, his smile slowly fading as he took in the sight before him.

His normally bare apartment had turned into a fortress of cardboard. There were boxes stacked almost as high as he was tall.

And, though he couldn't see the couch from the door due to the wall of packing boxes, he could hear her laughter. He let the door shut behind him and he cautiously stepped through the box-maze moving towards where he remembered the couch to be when he left this morning.

Words drifted over the boxes and reached his ears: "Yes, Teresa, I will be sure to give you the new address."

_Tersesa..._Tony's mind spun for a nano second before he realized that Ziva was speaking with his mother again. He moved like a madman, leaping over three boxes. Sadly, it was one box too high for a leap that short and he tripped, landing on his face, reaching out towards Ziva and the phone while grimacing as he struggled to get the phone away from her.

The beautiful agent winked at him. "Teresa, Tony just walked in. Would you like to speak with him?"

She handed the phone to Tony who still lay on the floor, his eyes closed in pain. He had seriously stubbed his toe in that very stupid leap across the room and the toe throbbed. Badly.

"Hi, Ma," Tony said into the phone, glaring as Ziva merely stepped over his form, chuckling at his klutziness. He saw her turn towards the bedroom before he lost her in the sea of boxes.

As she walked away, she heard the beginnings of Tony defend Teresa's obvious nagging. Yes, he was eating right – Ziva herself was making sure of that. No, he was not doing anything stupid at work – lately even Gibbs had trouble getting him to take risky assignments. Yes, he was saving his money for the future.

Ziva snickered and shook her head, quietly switching a load of laundry as she passed by the hallway laundry-nook.

She had taken a personal day today, not heading into the office. Gibbs had, remarkably, not given her the least bit of grief over it, either. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she had more unused vacation time than she could possibly use, save for bed-rest from an injury. And on the rare times that did happen, NCIS was always more than fair about paid-leave for work-related injuries.

The movers had come and taken some of the larger pieces of furniture over to the house earlier. They would return in the morning for the rest, as well as the boxes.

Since Tony had refused to let her chip in on the mortgage, she had decided to take a bit of her savings and buy new appliances for the new home. She was fairly confident she had selected the right items, but there was still a sliver of doubt. Her worst fear was that Tony would walk into the kitchen tomorrow and have to plaster on an obviously-fake smile at appliances he hated.

Certainly, things could be returned. But part of a good surprise is the actual _surprise. _

While she hated to admit it, laundry was her worst chore. She did it because it was a requirement, not a passion. Therefore, she was able to justify the new washer & dryer that was installed today, as well.

Needless to say, the sales clerk at HomeDepot had made a month's worth of commission on Ziva's one trip to the store.

Laundry switched, she ducked into the bedroom to finish packing. Typical to Tony, he had procrastinated his packing to the last moment and Ziva's patience had run thin. She grabbed one of his topped drawers, removing it from its tracks and she tipped it over, dumping the drawer's contents into an open box at her feet.

_We will just unpack it tomorrow at the new house. No need to fold everything, s_he thought.

His colorful boxers filled the cardboard box and she smirked at the latest pair of Boxers that Abby had ordered for him offline. Light blue with "Some Israeli loves me" and SWACKs across them; needless to say, Tony had loved them at first glance. Ziva, of course, merely rolled her eyes, though she did admit to Abby later that they were her favorite boxers of Tony's.

She dumped out the next drawer, her eyes widening as she heard a muffled thud as something in his drawer echoed against the bottom of the box.

Ziva replaced the drawer before reaching tentatively into the cardboard box and letting her hand slide through Tony's clothes until it closed around a small velveteen square box.

She felt herself squat next to the box, her hand opening and revealing the blue box to her inquisitive gaze.

She felt her other hand move towards the lid but instead of opening the box, she merely turned it over in her grasp, examining it from all sides.

The gold filigree logo on the bottom made her bite her lip.

_'Secrete._' A prestigious and expensive French jeweler in Northern Virginia.

_Jeanne. _It had to be for her.

Her mind was a contradiction – whirling with thoughts, yet processing them in slow motion.

Two years ago, she would have publicly berated him for being unable to let go of his past conquests.

A year ago, she would have teased him mercilessly about the box and the amount of money he spent on some woman who wasn't even around to pawn the ring.

Two years ago, he would never have stood by her like he did during her pregnancy, taking the responsibility for another man's problem.

A year ago, he would never have asked her to move in with him. Hell, he would never have waited six months for sex.

Not anymore.

Now she merely sighed, rubbing the heel of her hand against her eyes to take away the sting of unshed tears.

They had both grown- changed. They had both learned how to be better people. They had learned to treat each other better. They had learned to be respectful and adult when the situation called for it.

This definitely called for respect.

And as much as she wanted to go out to the living room, interrupt his phone call with his mother and throw the box at his head while screaming at him about commitment and lies and all those things irrational women screamed about, she couldn't do it.

She couldn't turn into the raging banshee that she had seen so often in other women; she refused to become that which she always despised.

Instead, she blinked rapidly and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and put the box back in with the socks and underwear.

She gently pulled out the drawer full of tee-shirts and tipped it over, emptying the contents in with the socks, underwear, and that damned blue box.

And she pretended like she never saw it.


	3. Chapter 3

The movers had spent the morning unloading the boxes into the house. Thanks to Ziva's meticulous -Tony said "Anal", McGee said "Meticulous" - labeling of boxes, the distribution of packed goods had gone remarkably smoothly.

Tony had stood on the lawn directing traffic as Ziva took up her command post inside, holding doors for movers, making sure paint and walls and corners weren't marred by large furniture and careless workers.

And while his apartment had been packed with an adulthood of memories and her apartment comfortably, if sparsely furnished, the house seemed to be a perfect fit for both their belongings. Her couch, much more presentable, went to the living room. His, to the 'man room' – known to others as the basement – with his Xbox and the overflow of the movie collection.

Her bed was relegated to the guest room while his went to the master bedroom; their room. Her linens were nicer, even Tony admitted that 800 thread count was addictive. That choice was hardly a difficult one and the Egyptian Cotton would grace their new mattress that night.

Bookshelves were built-ins in the older house, so his college collection of press-board furniture finally made their way to the thrift shop.

Between her book fetish and his movie collection, the shelves would be packed full. For now, boxes labeled "Living Room -bookshelves" were stacked accordingly.

'Anal' or 'Meticulous' didn't matter- the move was simpler due to her thoroughness.

He stepped inside, allowing the door to swing shut behind him and Tony rested his back against the door, closing his eyes and letting a long breath out.

"Phew, that was exhausting."

"You did not even lift a box, Tony," she said with a chuckle, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him.

"I _paid _people to lift the stuff, Ziva. Directing traffic is complicated work!"

She smirked glanced into the living room at all the boxes. "We will be truly tired when we unpack."

Tony grinned, watching her move about the entry-way to their home. _Their home. _The feeling was indescribable.

He shifted away from the door and took a step towards her, his hands resting on her hips. "Will you think less of me if I fail to provide you with a home-cooked meal tonight, Ms. David?" he teased, kissing her forehead quickly. "Considering everything's in boxes and we have no groceries..."

"I believe Pizza is acceptable for moving day," she replied, stepping out of his grasp and moving into the kitchen. "Come," she said curtly.

Tony trailed behind her wordlessly, too exhausted to comment on being ordered about.

"I do not know if I got the right ones, but I believe we can return everything," she supplied quickly, stepping out of his way and watching as his eyes widened at the sight.

His new stainless steel refrigerator was nestled into the beautiful cabinetry and the large six-burner range shone against the afternoon sunlight streaming in from the windows. Matching microwave, coffee maker and toasters were positioned on the counter.

"You did this?" he asked, turning towards her with a shocked expression.

She nodded, hands clasped somewhat nervously behind her back; only Tony would ever be able to read the unsure tension radiating from her body.

"I knew I loved you for a reason," he said, moving quickly and in two strides across the room, grasping her face firmly in his hands before capturing her lips with his own. Ziva wrapped her arms around him, one hand tangling in the belt-loops of his jeans and the other gently fingering the hairs at the base of his neck.

When they parted, she smiled. "I bought a new washer and dryer, too," she said. "If you break them, I will hurt you."

He grinned, knowing full well that he had put a large dent in his last washer with his foot in a moment of temper. "Understood."

They slipped apart and Tony flipped open his cell phone to order pizza while she began eying the boxes for any that had been delivered to the wrong room.

Ziva headed up the stairs, eyes taking in the stairwell – walls perfect for decorating with pictures of family and friends.

It had been many years since she had a life which allowed for permanence. Even with Mossad, she was still constantly on the move. Missions were first priority – and Mossad provided housing for those agents without families and children. She needn't rent an apartment or buy a home – her quarters at Mossad were sufficient for her needs.

Before that, she lived with her father and family. And despite genetic relations, things there were always tense. She lived in a perpetual state of unease. Never knowing what her father's expectations would be of her this week- or what craziness her brother would start spouting at the dinner table. After Tali and her mother died, Papa and Ari spent the dinner hour discussing missions, politics, hatred... as McGee once said you "go along to get along."

Ziva knew her family would never be ideal, but her goal was to create as little tension as possible. And if that meant conforming to her father's ideals, then that is what she'd do. Her joys – dancing, singing, poetry – took backseat to learning to run miles and miles, mastering several different martial arts, firing a weapon, and perfecting her language skills.

She knew since the death of Mama that she'd never have permanence. She knew she'd have to change her life to accommodate Papa. And she would never have the life which permitted you to have a favorite blanket on the back of the couch waiting for you after a long day of work. Or to have pictures lining the walls of your hallway. Or to have your great-grandmother's menorah out for Chanukah.

Yet, somehow, in this world so far from her home, in this life so different than she had thought possible, she had found permanence. She had found hope. She had found a place to hang her pictures. And she had a mantel the perfect size for Grandma's Menorah.

She let a small smile grace her lips as she wandered the halls of the house, moving past the master-bedroom and barely suppressing a blush. _Their room. _Ziva had shared space with people many times. She had shared rooms, bunks, houses. She had shared her bed with others. Personal space was about as hard to come by as permanence.

Yet something so intimate as sharing a home and a bed and a bathroom every day with one person, was enough to make her heart flutter like a virgin's again. She shook her head at her own childishness and continued moving down the hall.

Passed the guest-room. Her bed – her old bed -- was set up in the room, just as she had instructed the movers. The mattress was bare, waiting for linens and its first guest. His old dresser, had seen better days but was still presentable enough to service as the guest-room dresser; it stood tucked against the far wall, light from the window streaming against the black paint of the dresser.

She moved on, walking past the hall-bathroom with its porcelain claw foot tub and pedestal sink. She had taken her delicate white and sage bath curtain and towels and made sure those boxes had come to this bath.

Her items were distinctly feminine. And, while she loved them, making the master-bath an estrogen zone wasn't fair to Tony. They had agreed to head to the store the next day and select bath decor that didn't make either of them gag.

The end of the hall had the hall closet, perfect for storing linens and towels when they unpacked. To one side was the door to the attic stairs and to the other, the remaining guest room.

She had kept the room empty from movers all day, still unsure of what she and Tony would do with the room. She wanted to leave it empty for Yoga and he though that it would make a great place to hold 'poker night' with the boys.

Ziva gently pushed the door open.

Apparently there was a third option neither had voiced.

She felt her breath catch in her throat as she took in the room. On the far wall, a beautifully crafted crib stood, a card draped across the top railing.

Tucked into the gentle scoop of the bay window was a rocking chair.

The only thing missing from the items were the chair-cushion and the crib bunting.

Ziva's hand flew to her mouth, covering it as she blinked and regarded the furniture with shocked eyes.

A voice called down to her from down the hall: "Pizza will be here in twenty," his voice startled her, but not enough to cause Ziva to take her eyes from the room.

"Zi? You ok?" Tony asked, sliding up behind her and looking into the room over her shoulder. "Wow," he breathed, seeing the freshly painted yellow walls, something she had missed noticing in favor of the beautifully crafted furniture.

She stepped into the room and immediately moved towards the rocking chair, caressing the back of the chair with slightly-trembling fingers.

"How-?" she started, stopping and looking around, finally noticing the new paint.

Tony headed towards the crib, reverently picking up the piece of folded card stock that was draped across the rail.

_1) Get better locks on the house. McGee picked it in ten seconds. _

_2) Don't screw this up. We don't all get second chances. _

_-LJG_

"He made these?" she asked, her voice barely audible as Ziva's eyes snapped up and regarded Tony in shock.

"He broke into our house!" Tony replied with a sardonic chuckle. "He made us beautiful furniture but committed a felony to drop it off!"

She shifted and stepped around to the front of the chair, sitting in it gently, her hands sliding down the arms of the chair and caressing the wood. She shifted her toes, allowing the chair to rock gently on its round rails.

A beautiful chair made for her by someone who loved her like a father.

A home bought for her by someone who loved her more than himself.

A handmade crib for anyone who might come along, fate willing.

A new washer and dryer.

Walls to hang family photos.

She watched Tony examine the crib, obviously excited and intrigued simultaneously.

The yard's large oak tree stood guard over the house, letting fingers of orange evening light filter through to reach the window-seat. The window seat of what was now a nursery.

Ziva closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment or two of peace in an otherwise chaotic and violent life.


	4. Chapter 4

They spent the rest of the day unpacking as much as they could. Pizza and beer for dinner; the ideal move-in catering.

At the bottom of some of the boxes, she found his family's photo albums and settled into the living room's window-seat, an old quilt tugged across her lap against the winter's chill.

The oldest albums held family-photos long before Tony's day. Grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins from generations back. Ziva knew better than to think that Tony had assembled the albums and quickly made a mental note to send a thank-you email to Teresa DiNozzo.

She thumbed through the album, her fingers absently tracing the planes of Tony's face when he was a toddler. His round cheeks didn't hide his mischievous eyes. As she progressed through the book, the photos lent a glimpse into his tumultuous childhood. Finding a shot with the entire family was difficult, and those where everyone had been forced to crowd together for a photo, the tension was evident. Smiles were forced and not one smile reached anyone's eyes.

She noticed that as the family aged and photos became more sporadic, she could recognize her own family reflected in Tony's. A domineering father with a selfish agenda. A mother who was independent and nurturing, yet unable to step away from her own issues to protect her children's emotional wellbeing.

Ziva turned and rested the side of her head against the icy cold window, gazing out across their front yard.

How they had both survived such devastating youths, she wasn't sure. But she was sure that there was no one else who understood her better; her lack of trust, her need to be the best at work, her teasing nature which hid her true feelings in a layer of joviality, her desire for a family – even though she'd never admit it.

All traits that he, too, possessed in abundance.

A good psychologist would know them for the defense mechanisms they were.

And yet neither felt a need for intense therapy – their relationship was all they needed. First, friends. Better friends than they had ever had before. Now, more than friends but without losing their own identity.

It was a perfect balance.

Yet, despite being wrapped in his family's quilt with his family's photos balanced in her lap, she still felt like an outsider. Despite his mother's frequent calls and emails, despite having received a recipe for Tony's favorite dinner dish, she still was reluctant to think to the future.

Somewhere between packing their lives - and finding another woman's ring- and unpacking their lives into one house, she had lost her long-term intent.

She was forced to think of their relationship in moments, the here and now, and not mentally make plans for the future.

One small, blue velvet box caused her to second guess the commitments and plans she had happily agreed to just weeks before.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony had found her asleep in the window-seat, wrapped in his great-grandmother's quilt with his family's photo albums stacked around her.

Moving with the same stealth that kept him safe for years chasing suspects, he managed to grab the camera he had unpacked earlier and snap several photos.

Nature had set up the photos perfectly. The sun had just set and a deep rose colored glow now spread across the sky above the tree-line, coming in the window at just the right angle to create an angelic glow behind Ziva as she slept.

He grinned at the photo on the digital camera's screen and thumbed through the various angles he had quickly snapped before he shut the camera off and rested it on the coffee table. He'd remember tomorrow night to get some of those printed. His mother had sent a blank photo album; the idea of filling it up with photos of this chapter in his life – their life, his and Ziva's- seemed like the right thing to do.

Tony grinned as he walked towards her quietly. She must be tired; she was rarely able to sleep through people moving in her personal space who weren't there when she was asleep. Somehow, in her years as an assassin, Ziva had developed protective Radar that extended beyond her consciousness; Tony was sure Gibbs had it, too.

He leaned down and planted a quick kiss to her forehead, brushing her curls away. "Zi," he whispered, gently sliding his hand behind her back. "Come on, hon, sit up." She shifted slightly and muttered something in her sleep, instinctively moving her frame closer to his own. Tony was able to slid his other arm beneath her and the quilt, scooping her up into what he always thought of as a Superman-carry.

The trek to their bedroom was difficult only in that he had to move cautiously as to not bang her head against the door frame to their room. When he finally was able to lay her gentle on their bed, still wrapped in the quilt, he grinned.

He had certainly thought the first night in their new home together would include some sort of celebratory sex. Yet, surprising himself, he was more than Ok with the idea of merely falling asleep, his arms wrapped around her and his nose buried in her lavender-scented curls.


	6. Chapter 6

She had managed to slip out of bed and go for a run before he even woke. He found his grandmother's quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

When she returned, he grinned as she tugged off her winter cap and her suddenly mussed hair. He sat up in bed and grabbed her wrist gently as she walked by. She turned, smirked, and kissed his cheek before excusing herself and ducking into the shower.

He scrambled out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen, grinning as he popped English muffins into the toaster she had bought him.

If he ever doubted how much she cared, one look at the beautiful kitchen would reassure him. No other woman had ever understood his passion for good food and gone so far as to ensure he was comfortable in his kitchen.

Granted, when he purchased the house, he was well aware that the appliances needed updating, even though the kitchen itself, cabinetry, flooring, lighting, had all been remodeled thanks to the previous owner. He knew his budget and knew it would be a few years before he'd be able to replace the stove, laundry units, and the other various small projects that needed to be done. Even though the property was previously owned by a contractor, he still wanted to personalize the home and truly make it his own. Painting the walls of the master bedroom and the living room were on his list. And that list would certainly be taken care of sooner now that the kitchen had been crossed-off thanks to Ziva and her fantastic gifts.

Tony smiled, hearing the water cut off after her shower and he moved towards the stairs, heading up to their room as she stepped out of the shower, wrapped in her robe, hair wet from being freshly washed.

"Breakfast is in the toaster," he said to her as he peeled his t-shirt over his head, ready for his own turn in the shower.

"Thank you," she replied, not looking up as she pulled her bra and panties from the drawers in the dresser.

"You ok?" he asked, noting the tension in her voice.

"Fine," she said, digging in another drawer for a long sleeved tee shirt. She tossed them on the bed, moving to the closet to find a pair of pants for the day.

Tony narrowed his eyes, watching her grab her clothes in tightly controlled movements. He shrugged it off and stepped into the bathroom for his shower.

He was sure she'd be more talkative after she ate breakfast; she always woke up a bit and was more pleasant on the drive to work. "Morning Person" and "Ziva David" were not synonymous.

He couldn't keep the frown off his face when he stepped out of the shower and the bedroom was empty. He listened and was unable to hear her prowling around the kitchen as she foraged for juice to go with her breakfast. The frowned deepened but he shook it off, knowing that she often functioned on her own schedule without telling him; sharing their lives would take some adjusting for them both.

He grabbed a pair of boxers and an undershirt before reaching for a pair of socks. His fingers hit a firm object on the bottom of the drawer as he rooted for a pair of black socks.

Tony's eyes flew open.

"Oh, shit," he said under his breath.

Ziva packed his dresser.

Ziva unpacked his dresser.

Ziva was now suddenly distant, quiet, and silently slightly angry.

_Oh, shit. _


	7. Chapter 7

She had been quiet all day, barely glancing up and saying "Hello" when he made it to the office.

He had known better than to question why she had driven alone. She felt no need to bring it up.

Tony was a smart man; he had quickly put the pieces together that she had found the ring. What was holding him up, however, was why that would make her upset. He thought most women would be happy to find an engagement ring their significant other had squirreled away for the perfect moment.

He never thought he'd be getting the cold shoulder when she stumbled upon an expression of 'forever.'

Yet, here it was. Her very, very cold shoulder.

Gibbs had arched an eyebrow in Tony's direction when he picked up on Ziva's distant attitude. Tony had subtlety shrugged before both men returned to the paperwork for the case they had just wrapped up.

Forty years ago, then-Petty-Officer Galleria had jilted his lover, leaving her for the woman he fell in love with. Two weeks ago, Mrs Galleria had been found in her home, shot and then violently slashed.

It had taken almost a full week to drag the true story of his romances out of the now retired Officer Galleria. Years of hiding his affair had made the topic one that he was reluctant to discuss, despite his happy marriage to his wife and their kids and grandkids.

"It was like he was haunted," McGee had commented when they all sat down to begin their reports. "Like the memory of Katherine Merola was this ghost that Galleria couldn't shake for all these years."

Ziva had blinked and stopped mid-keystroke. "And his wife was equally as haunted, McGee. And it was that ghost that finally ended their marriage."

"Ghosts can't kill, Ziva," McGee said with a chuckle, thinking she was joking.

Ziva stood, threw her laptop into her bag and then shouldered her pack. "Some ghosts do more damage than we think," she merely said. "Going to lunch, Gibbs."

And for the first time in years, Ziva took her lunch break away from the team and out of the office.

When the elevator closed behind her, McGee and Gibbs' head snapped to Tony and two sets of eyes glared at the agent.

"Tony, what did you _do?_" McGee questioned, his glare almost as strong as Gibbs'. While he was sure that, if it came to it, Tony could truly kick his ass, he was sure that it was a battle he'd happily fight to stand up for Ziva.

He was also sure that if she knew he was thinking of standing up for her, she'd kick his ass herself.

"I don't know," Tony said, letting his head drop to his desk with a thump as his forehead made impact with his desktop.

"Well you'd better figure it out, DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked. "Because you might lose more than a roomate! That was the same look my ex wives gave to me before they talked to a lawyer."


	8. Chapter 8

He knew better than to expect her to be at the house that evening. He knew she'd find a good reason to spend some time alone.

And, despite his respect for her need for space, he knew that leaving her alone right now was the last thing that their relationship needed.

So he went home, changed into a pair of jeans and grabbed the blue velvet box from his drawer.

He turned the box over in his hand several times, his eyes glazing as he thought of all the ways he could have shown it to her. The ways that would have won him the "proposal of the year" award. Dinner at a romantic restaurant, champagne, ring hidden in desert. That was a classic. Taking a trip and ice skating in the middle of Rockafeller center – and going down on one skate to propose.

Instead he had to go do this the hard way.

Why was he surprised, really? Had any part of their relationship been easy? This was completely par for the course.

He slid the box into his jacket pocket and, with a resigned sigh, headed out of the house and to the local coffee shop he knew she frequented.

And that's where he found her- in a booth in the back corner of the building, a book on the table in front of her next to a lukewarm mug of tea.

She looked up, looking mildly shocked as he slid into the seat across from her.

"I was worried," he said simply.

"You should not have been. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," he said with a small chuckle. Tony leaned back slightly in the booth, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets and fingering the box absently. "But I've obviously done something to upset you and I'd like to fix it, Ziva," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke.

"You did nothing, Tony."

He half-grinned. "Maybe that's the problem. I did nothing."

"Do not speak in riddles, Tony," she snapped, closing her book with a muffled thud. "Say what you have to say." _Tell me you are not ready for this- for me. Tell me you are still in love with the memory of Jeanne. Be honest with me._

He shifted and pulled his hands from his pockets, resting them in his lap, out of her sight. He closed his fingers around the the velveteen box.

_Just ask her, Dinozzo._ "You happen to come across anything interesting when you packed my clothes the other day?"

"Many things," she replied quickly with a sarcastic smirk. "Like your Mickey Mouse boxers?"

He grinned. "No, like this," he said, gently setting the box on the table in front of her.

She glanced down at the box quickly before opening her book again. "Yes, I saw it."

"You didn't mention it."

"Why would I mention it? It is not my business," she replied quickly, her eyes firmly planted on the text of her book.

"I'd like to make it your business," he said gently.

She looked up, her eyes sparking with unshed tears, frustration, and hurt. "I do not know who you think I am, Tony, but I do not want another woman's cast-offs."

He frowned. "What?"

"That was for Jeanne. Why would you offer it to me?"

Tony's frown suddenly shifted to a look of shock and amazement. _Jeanne. That's what this is about. She thinks... _Tony couldn't help but chuckle briefly at the misunderstanding. He schooled his features back to one she would find less offensive and picked up the box, turning it towards himself and opening the lid.

"I would never offer this to Jeanne," he said simply, regarding the beautiful platinum band and diamonds.

Ziva watched him in silence as he took in the ring she could not see as the box faced away from her.

"First off, she preferred gold," he started. "Secondly, she hated _Secrete's – _she preferred a more traditional cut. I gotta tell ya, I thought that was incredibly boring. I mean if you're going to pick out jewelery, you might as well get something that stands out – something that is as unique as the love you feel for that person.

"Besides," he said gently. "She's not the one I want to spend my life with. I don't know why I'd buy _her _a ring when you've been in my heart for so long, I can't remember what it was like before you were there. I bought this for you. I want to do this right. And I want to get married one day. Soon."

He stopped, and set the box down in front of her, facing so she could see the ring.

Tony watched as her already misty eyes overflowed and a lone tear ran down her cheek when she blinked. She didn't even move to wipe it away, her gaze so fixated on the stone.

He assumed that was a good thing that she couldn't take her eyes off of it. And with a small, frustrated smile, he slid out of the booth.

Tony leaned over and kissed her forehead gently. "I'll see you at home." And he left the shop, not looking over his shoulder.

Though, if he had, he would have found her cheeks covered in tears as she lifted the ring from the box and the light caught the inside band, glinting off the engraved words.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: As of right this minute, this is the last chapter. However I'm toying with the idea of an epilogue. Many thanks to my betas Jaimee and Jen- they're fantastic and I love them both dearly. And of course many thanks to the readers who have taken the time to read & review. Thank you.**

* * *

It truly hadn't been a tough decision. The minute he walked into the store, he had found the perfect ring. The jeweler had said it was a one of a kind; Tony had known it was perfect for his 'ninja.'

A raised stone would, no doubt, catch as she was kicking some perp's ass. Anything clunky and ostentatious wasn't her style at all.

But this platinum band was delicate, with three beautifully clear diamonds set flush into the band. There would be nothing to catch when she fought. Nothing to catch a mugger's eye as they did undercover work or stakeouts in the sketchy areas of DC.

But to all who knew her, and to those who mattered, and to those who looked closely, they would see the most beautiful diamonds set into precious metal. And they would see how brilliantly it sparkled and radiated. And to those who knew her, and to those who mattered, they would know that no matter how beautiful the ring, she was more beautiful every day.

And in the quickest of decisions, he said "I'll take it."

The hard part was translating the inscription.

And there was, truly, only one person he could go to for help with that. And that was a phone call he had put off for too long.

Somehow Tony had managed to convince Gibbs that using MTAC for personal reasons wasn't entirely illegal or unethical.

And McGee had agreed to run the technical board instead of the typical agent. While the office was great at maintaining confidentiality during secret governmental meetings via MTAC, they were all sure that the topic of this particular call would spread like wild fire. And none of them had wanted to face the wrath of Ziva if she heard about this in the ladies room.

Director David had not shown his surprise, if he had felt any, when Tony politely asked for his daughter's hand in marriage. He had, however, made a comment about that being an antiquated tradition.

And Tony, in return, replied that no matter how antiquated it was, he still felt it was the right thing to do.

"And what if I say no, Agent DiNozzo?" the Director had asked, his fingers steeped in front of him as he rested his elbows on his desk-top.

"To be honest, Director, I'll marry her anyway," _If she'll have me, _he added silently. "But I know it would make her happier to know that you approve- and I want to make her happy."

"You set yourself up for failure to make her happy?"

"I would do more than that to make her happy," Tony replied without missing a beat.

The director sat quietly for a moment and Tony felt McGee's eyes on his back as the younger agent watched in anticipation.

"Ziva is not the same girl who left me many years ago," the director finally said, clearing his throat before he spoke. "When she came back for a few months last year, I knew she was not my little girl anymore. She had grown in many ways- and she had given her heart."

Tony said nothing, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, waiting patiently.

The director regarded the younger man with a keen eye. "I believe this is Ziva's choice," he said. "But I will not stop you. You have my blessing."

The MTAC session ended very soon after and, for the first time that he can remember, Tony was enveloped in an exuberant and congratulatory hug by McGee and a fatherly slap on the back by Gibbs.

"That was just the warm-up, DiNozzo," Gibbs had said with a smirk before handing Tony a cup of coffee to ease the younger agent's nerves. "The hard part is asking her."

And now, months later, the conversation with Director David was still fresh in his mind. He could still replay the conversation, even though now he sat on his sofa, photo albums spread on the coffee table in front of him.

He had developed the photos from his camera earlier that afternoon. And now he realized the camera could only capture so much beauty; the photos were lovely but the real thing had been infinitely better.

The camera had managed to catch the sunset streaming through the window, back lighting Ziva in a beautiful glow of dusky rose. And she slept with an angelic face, her dark locks falling down around her shoulders.

Tony flipped back to his oldest album, finding the old black and white photo of his great-grandmother sitting on her front porch, stitching the very quilt Ziva had wrapped around her when she snuggled into the window sill.

And he smiled, turning to the newer photo album and sliding the photo of Ziva into place next to the photo of their house that he had snapped on moving day. Earlier photos graced a few pages, but more impressive were the number of blank pages that Tony was eager to fill up.

Assuming he hadn't blown it.

Assuming his mistakes from earlier in his life, his mistakes with Jeanne, with other women, hadn't made it impossible for her to trust him.

He sighed, realizing that the damage had already been done and all he could do now was try to prove himself to her as much as she would allow.

He turned his attention back to the photo album and flipped to the next blank page, sliding in a photo of the nursery, its furniture and Gibb's note. He wanted to keep the note – to remind him to be a better man, to not screw up, and to consider himself lucky for his second chances. And he wanted to keep the photos of the room, to show his kids how much their grandpa had cared about them even before they were born. _Yes- Grandpa Gibbs, _Tony thought with a chuckle before he shook his head in frustration.

The possibility of kids would definitely depend on her forgiving him.

He was lost in the possibilities of the future and Tony never heard the key in the door, nor her slipping into the house. And he didn't hear her standing in the doorway, regarding him, her face haggard and weary.

He did, however, hear her sniffle and turned in time to see her wipe her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Hey," he said gently, a small smile on his face.

She managed half a grin. "I am sorry," she said immediately.

He shrugged. "Don't be. I've given you every reason to doubt me," he said. He was honest, if not brutal to himself.

"You have not," she said, shaking her head as she stepped into the room, her arms folded across her chest. "You have been so... I do not know that I deserve you."

Tony shifted over on the couch, silently making room for her. "You deserve better," he said, reaching for the next picture and returning to his work on the albums.

Ziva moved hesitantly into the room. "Are you... are you sure?" She was barely able to eek out the words, afraid he would say no and take back his proposal.

"About deserving you? Yeah, I'm sure that you could do a million times better, Ziva," he said with a self deprecating chuckle. "And I'm sure that you probably should be with someone better. But for some reason I can't figure out, you're here with me."

_Better than you? You are the only one who understands me, _ she thought, shaking her head to chase off his negative words. "I do not know how I could do better," she said, clearing her voice to try to hide the hitch of emotion. "No one else would have...Tony, how did you know?"

He looked up and met her eye. "About the ring?"

Ziva nodded, silently.

Tony shrugged. "I had some help," he said with a half smile on his face. "Jenny let it slip once that you all had gone there on a girls-weekend-out or something, and you really liked the store."

"That was years ago. You remembered that?"

He nodded. "I remember most things about you."

She closed her eyes at the meaning of his words. "And the inscription?"

Tony looked down at the album, unable to meet her gaze. "Your dad."

Her eyes got wide and she had to consciously keep herself from dropping her jaw in surprise. "My father?"

"I called him a few months ago," Tony supplied. "He sent me your mother's ring."

She held up her hand and, for the first time Tony noticed the ring was firmly planted on her finger. Ziva regarded the ring closely, while Tony regarded how the ring looked on her fingers.

He watched her frown as she studied the stones. "I had the jeweler take out two of the new stones," he said simply. _You'll see them on Valentine's day – as earrings, _he thought. "And put in your mother's and grandmother's. Your mother's setting is in my safety deposit box at the bank- if you want it."

Ziva bit her lip slightly and closed her fingers, in an unconscious gesture of fear that the ring might slip away. Her mother's ring was modest, but had settings of family-stones with family history– and leaving the ring behind in Israel was something she always regretted but never expressed. She was the last daughter in her family and, rightfully, the ring should be hers. But Papa held the ring and she refused to beg for it.

"Thank you," she said softly. _I do not know the last time I said 'thank you' this often. Nor do I know the last time someone did so many kind things for me. _

"You don't mind the inscription?" he asked, standing and walking hesitantly towards her.

She shook her head. The words had been on her mother's ring, as well. And her grandmother's ring.

Love. Blessings. Future.

_Ahava. Brachot. Atid_

Despite her parent's rocky relationship, she never doubted the deep love they shared. The marriage was far from ideal, but it was permanent and one both parties strove to make work.

And now, her ring carried with it her mother's diamond and her grandmother's diamond and the diamond that Tony had bought for her.

Puffy cheeks and swollen eyes from crying. Frizzy hair from her winter-hat. And yet, at no other time in her life did she feel more beautiful, more wanted, more cherished or more loved.

"I think it looks good right there," he said, carefully reaching for her ringed hand, his movements somewhat shy despite his normally confident nature.

Of course, this was the first time he'd ever proposed. And, in typical DiNozzo fashion, he'd managed to cock it all up and it definitely did not go down as the "Most romantic proposals in history." Perhaps as the most awkward proposal in history. At least he'd make one top-ten-list.

"Its perfect," she replied, turning her hand and sliding it out of his grasp. She watched his face falter as she pulled away but she quickly moved her fingers to his cheeks, caressing lightly before taking his face in her hands.

"I am very lucky," she said simply. "Despite everything I have done in my life, I have still been blessed with you." She stood and leaned up, caressing his lips.

Tony felt the tension slip out of his body as soon as she kissed him. He had spent the entire evening in knots, unsure of how their lives would unfold when she returned home – if she returned home. And here she was, wearing the ring that promised of a life together, and kissing him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him and responding to her kisses with his own.

When they separated, she nestled her head on his shoulder and he could feel her body trembling in his arms.

"You ok?" he asked gently, stroking her back.

"No," she said firmly. "You called my father."

He chuckled. "I did. I asked for your hand in marriage," his tone slightly dramatic.

"And you are still alive how?" she asked, pulling back and regarding him with a skeptical look.

"Dashing good looks and DiNozzo charm?" he supplied with a shrug.

She grinned and kissed him again. She slid her hand into his, noting how the ring fit against his fingers, and turned towards the stairs, tugging him behind her.

"Perhaps he just knows that you are the only man I can tolerate without eventually resorting to murder?"

"Sounds like love to me," Tony replied, following her up the stairs and through the door to their bedroom.


	10. Step Up Epilogue

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**AN:** _Many many thanks for my great betas- Jen and Jaimee for seeing me through this series to the end. They are amazing founts of support and friendship and I'm lucky to know them both. Thank you for correcting my typos in the wee hours of the morning, feeding the plot bunnies until they sprouted, and not laughing when I screamed "I don't KNOW where I'm going with this – I just sit down and it writes itself!!" I only hope that I can be as supportive when its MY turn to be YOUR beta!! You both rock!_

_To my readers: Thank you all for the feedback and support through the series. I've had so much fun writing this adventure for our favorite agents and it truly is good to know you all have enjoyed it, as well. _

_This is the final installment of the "Step Up" series. Thank you for coming on this ride with me-- I've had a great time and I hope this is the ending you all hoped for, as it is the one I've had in mind all along. :)_

* * *

The day had started out the same as the rest of the week- a splitting headache, a ravenous stomach, and lethargy instead of her normal eagerness to engage in her morning run. She figured it was age catching up with her and vowed to spend more time at the gym, more money buying organic, and less time watching movies with Tony until all hours.

It had been an interesting feeling that morning, in MTAC, when the world started to spin on its axis and she had to grab Gibb's arm to keep from hitting the floor at what seemed like it would be a painfully high speed.

When the call to Gitmo ended, Gibbs' gaze flickered between 'concerned' and 'annoyed.'

She apologized profusely but was met with her day planned out for her in four short words:

"Doctor. Home. Bed. Now."

Gibbs' death-glare the only response to her half-hearted protests. To herself, she would fully admit she was tired. And if Tony asked, she'd be honest. That didn't mean she liked to volunteer the information, especially not to Gibbs.

At her desk, she grabbed her jacket, shouldered her pack, and waved at McGee before heading into the elevator and leaning against the cool metal walls for the ride down. She made a mental note to call Tony later and arrange his ride home from work; carpooling was great when you came and left together- when someone went home sick, it through a large monkey into the works.

* * *

The door was unlocked, as always. Despite having lived there for almost a year, Ziva still had the bad habit of not locking the door when she was in the house.

She swore that anyone foolish enough to try to break in while she was there, deserved their fate by whatever weapon she decided to use. Tony could hardly doubt that logic; heaven help the poor bastard that breaks in before her first cup of coffee.

Tony flipped through the mail as he through his keys into the bowl on the entry way table. He set the bills down on the end of the table and held the two remaining letters in his hand as he quickly glanced around the house, the door swinging shut behind him.

He could see her favorite reading chair in the living room from the entry way; it was empty. The kitchen was too quiet for her to be putzing around.

Detective skills successfully used for the day, Tony headed upstairs, the last logical choice for his beautiful bride-to-be to hide away while feeling under the weather.

He glanced quickly through the hall as he walked, half his attention on the letters in his hand, the other half on Ziva.

He smiled and paused in the doorway, his eyes finally resting on her beautiful frame.

Bathed in light from the evening dusk, she had settled into the rocking chair in the nursery and ever so gently rocked. The yellow walls reflected the dusk light, casting shadows on her hair and creating a subtle glow about her.

"Hey, how you feelin?" he asked, gently, stepping into the room towards her.

Ziva's face spun towards his, a small contented look on her face. "I am fine," she said simply. "I will have to thank McGee for bringing you home, yes?"

Tony shrugged. "McGeek's a good kid," he quipped. "Mail's here. Something for you from your dad, it looks like." He handed her a larger envelope.

"Oh?" She slipped a finger under the paper and pulled, ripping the envelope open and pulling out two pieces of paper.

Tony watched her body posture change ever so slightly as she read through the documents. "What is it?" he asked, squatting down next to the rocker, his brow furrowing.

"He cannot come for the wedding," Ziva said, her voice betraying her composed attitude. To anyone other than her teammates, Tony especially, she would have sounded normal – but to their trained ears, they could hear the emotion in her voice. "But he sent this as a gift," she pulled the second sheet of paper from behind the first and her eyes quickly skimmed it before Tony took it from her grasp.

He stood and marveled at the words on the paper, his hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing as the document's meaning finally hit home.

"Dual Citizenship?"

Ziva felt her face crack into a smile. "Yes."

"I guess that solves a lot of problems, huh?" he quipped, smiling as well.

For months, the thought of Ziva being called home on Mossad business – permanently – had cast a cloud of doom across the life Tony and Ziva were trying to build together. Yes, they were engaged. And yes, marriage would solve a few of the issues. But until then, they could be torn apart at any time. It wasn't a situation either liked to dwell on. But the lack of discussion, lack of plan, had caused almost as much tension as the original fear of separation.

The idea of losing love once you found it made everyone fearful.

"I will have to thank him for the lovely wedding present," she said, her hand coming up and covering his on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "Let me know when you call– I'd like to say thanks, too."

Ziva snickered. "That just make him change his mind," she teased, turning and looking up, watching him regard the Citizenship Certificate with awe. "Tony, who is the other letter from?"

"Mom," he said, distracted as he read and re-read the certificate.

"Your mother? That was quick," she said, taking the green Hallmark envelope from his fingers and ripping it open. She pulled out the small letter and the handful of photos came tumbling out. Ziva gasped with delight at the photos in her lap.

She had spoken with Teresa weekly since last Thanksgiving. Teresa was happy to have someone who tolerated her son. And Ziva was enjoying the mother she never really had.

When Teresa offered to send a few of Tony's photos from his childhood, Ziva had leapt all over the offer like a child in a candy store. These photos would be for the scrapbook that Abby had convinced Ziva was a requirement in American society.

"Hey!" Tony leaned down and grabbed the photo of him on a pony at his 8th birthday party. "That was a fun party," he remembered before continuing, sans stupid grin. "Why did mom send you these?"

"Because she thought it would be nice for us to have them here," Ziva simply replied scooping the photos up, plucking the one from his fingers, and returning them to their envelope with reverence. She yawned and stiffened as her shoulders stretched through the yawn.

Tony's eyes regarded her tired face and he repeated his earlier question. "How are you feeling? Really? Its not like you to leave early."

"I did not have much of a choice," Ziva answered. "Gibbs' orders."

"He said you almost passed out, Ziva."

"That is an exaggeration. I was dizzy for a few moments."

Tony frowned. "Dizzy for a little or dizzy for a lot is still bad, Ziva. That's the difference between --"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Life and death. Yes, yes. I know."

"Pardon me for caring!"

Ziva turned and reached next to her on the rocking chair seat, tugging an envelope into sight. "Be quiet," she replied, handing him the envelope. "It does not matter now. I am on desk duty until I am back to normal."

"Desk duty?" Tony flipped the manila colored envelope in his fingers before sliding them inside in search of the papers within. The coloring stood out and Tony's mind recognized the envelope as that of a doctor's office- usually containing test results and small x-rays. "This had better be Ebola. There's no way in hell Gibbs will let you off work unless this is some puss oozing, flesh eating virus thingie."

He slid the papers out and opened the doctor's note.

His eyes never made it to the words on the note, instead his gaze came to rest on the print out held within the papers.

A sonogram.

A fuzzy staticy sonogram.

With an object that looked somewhat like a tiny baby hidden inside the static.

Ziva had turned her face back towards Tony, the grin on her features in full force as she watched him regard the photo and realization set in.

"Is this..." he stumbled, trying to form a sentence, but unable.

"A sonogram, yes," she said simply.

"Uhh," he started before his trademark nervous chuckle broke in. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but that looks like a baby."

Ziva smirked. "That is what the doctor thinks it is. About three months. Apparently what we thought was 'the flu' last month was not really the flu."

They had been down this road before. The road where she was pregnant and trying to work and be Ziva, Warrior Mossad Princess. The one where he had to keep his feelings in check when worrying about her.

And it had ended in a horribly painful loss. For both of them.

He shifted and knelt in front of her again, his hand on her knee. "You're ok with this?"

She merely nodded, a contented smile on her face.

"Its going to change your life, you know."

Ziva shook her head slowly. "No. It will change _our _lives, Tony. And not necessarily in a bad way."

He nodded and looked back at the sonogram for a second before meeting her questioning gaze. "I think _this_ is the only thing that Gibb's will let keep you on desk duty other than Ebola."

She smirked, knowing what was coming next.

Tony continued, "If its a girl, we should totally name her Ebola."

Ziva leaned forward in the chair, gently silencing his stupid humor with her lips.


End file.
